An Unseen Threat
by Wing Pikepaw
Summary: Someone Pullings and Mowett know from childhood suddenly reappears after living in France for years. Only Mowett suspects him of being a spy, but can he prove his theroy-before it's too late? Sequel to Chase for the Prize.
1. A Face from the Past

The cold November air was settled in a vice-like grip over London. The wind howled through the narrow cobbled streets, nipping the faces of those unfortunate enough to be outside. This included three men wearing dark blue cloaks and jackets and the tall, peaked hats of the British Navy-Jack Aubrey and his two officers, Thomas Pullings and William Mowett.

Jack had just received orders. He was to patrol the waters outside British harbors to prevent attacks from French privateers, and he was not happy about it. Jack was used to action-packed, sometimes reckless missions on the open ocean, not border patrol.

"The bloody nerve of them!" he raged. "They put the _Surprise_ on guard duty when ships like the _Druid_ get to see action! It's not _fair_!"

Tom and Will exchanged amused glances behind their captain's back. They were upset by the orders as well, but, unlike Jack, they were a bit more accustomed to boring assignments.

"Maybe a change of pace will be interesting, sir," Tom pointed out.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Yes, it'll break the monotony quite well. In fact, if I have to go into battle one more time, I may just die of boredom." He glanced up at the sky and gave a faint moan. "_And_ it looks like it's about to rain as well! We'd best hurry back to the ship, or we'll get soaked."

The first drops of rain began to fall even as he said this. Mowett, whose coat hung loose over his left arm, which was in a sling, sighed, then suggested brightly, "Perhaps we should have lunch at that tavern there. The rain might be stopped by then."

Jack, who had begun feeling very hungry, agreed. The three made their way into the tavern and sat down at one of the well-scrubbed tables. Tom blew water off his nose as he took off his dripping hat. "Ugh, bloody weather," he commented. "If this keeps up, we'll be reassigned to somewhere where we can actually sail." He looked at Jack meaningfully, but his captain was preoccupied with the menu.

After they had their meals, the three officers were lazily considering leaving. They were in no great hurry-the weather was still awful, and it was pleasantly warm inside the room. Mowett was half listening to his captain's bad joke about weevils _again_ when he caught sight of the man standing at the bar with three of his friends. His hand flew to his sword hilt, and Jack and Tom stiffened.

"What's wrong?" Jack whispered, careful to not let the neighboring table overhear.

"Tom-look casually behind you. Just a quick glance at the bar," hissed Mowett, his fingers tapping a nervous tattoo on the pommel of his sword.

Tom did as he was told. When he turned back, his eyes were wide. "George Lurdes?"

A single, tight nod from Mowett confirmed his answer.

"But he's supposed to be in France!" Tom whispered loudly, confusion apparent on his face. "Why is he here? He's the _enemy_!"

Mowett gave him an exasperated stare. "Spying! Why else?" He glanced at Jack, who was listening intently but not understanding most of what he was hearing. "Sir-could we explain later? Let me just say that Mr. Pullings and I both know that man, and he left to live in France at the start of the war. He's a dedicated Frenchman, sir, and I think he's here to spy for them."

Jack nodded slowly. "Let's go talk to him," he said. This was an order, not a suggestion.

The three rose as if to go, but didn't head for the door. Instead, they swerved in the direction of the bar.

The man that Mowett had indicated watched them approach, taking in their uniforms, their medals, and their swords all in one sweep of his gaze. He didn't move, but an expression of surprise came over his face when he got a better look at them. He was a tall and lanky man, but sallow-skinned, as though he had been recently ill. He wore all black, and a top hat that still looked damp from the rain.

_Spy material, this one,_ thought Jack mistrustfully. _Still, time will tell if he is or not._

"No-can it be?" he said in an excited tone, with no trace of an accent. "It is! Tom Pullings and Will Mowett! What a lovely surprise!"

He seized their hands in turn and shook them heartily, clapping the two surprised officers on the backs as he did so. "You remember me, I suppose? Your dear friend George Lurdes?"

"Yes," Tom said, extracting his hand from Lurdes' vice-like grip. "Nice to see you again, sir. May I introduce Captain Jack Aubrey, captain of the H.M.S _Surprise_?"

Lurdes immediately switched his affections to Jack, beaming at him and pumping his hand up and down. "A pleasure, sir, an honor. Any friend of these two is a friend of mine. Are you in the Navy, then, Will? And you too, Tom? That doesn't surprise me in the least, always hanging about the docks as children, they were!"

Amazed that someone could say all that in one breath, Jack hastily returned the greeting. "Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Lurdes. Er-"

But Lurdes cut him off, as if unaware that he was doing so. "But come now, where are my manners? Please, be seated; allow me to fetch you some drinks."

"No thank you," chimed Pullings and Mowett together. They shot each other looks as they moved to sit down. Lurdes was acting the part of an English gentleman, not a French spy. He might be acting, obviously, but he seemed genuinely delighted to see them.

Lurdes engaged them in conversation at once. What rank were they? Did they enjoy the naval life? Were they married? Where did they live? Had they known Jack for long? His constant barrage of questions made Mowett feel uneasy, though it seemed Tom had settled down a bit and was answering most of the questions himself. William wished he had Tom's ease, but his better judgment still told him that Lurdes could not be trusted.

Lurdes sat back in his chair, grinning at them. "Oh, I'm so very glad we saw each other! It's been such a long time..."

William decided to get down to business. "Where have you been, then? I heard you were in France."

Something like a warning flashed in the other man's eyes. He stared at Mowett for a second with odd dark eyes and replied slowly, "Did you think I was a spy then, William?"

"Of course not," said Tom hurriedly, knowing that, if riled up enough, his friend would probably say yes. "We just haven't seen you in so long, and we wanted to know why."

The strange expression on Lurdes' face was replaced by a mask of understanding. He laughed cheerily. "Oh, France, left at the beginning of the war. Nice place, pretty countryside, but not for me while Bonaparte's in charge! Ever been there?"

Jack had been watching Lurdes with suspicion too. "Yes, several times during the war. I was captured there a few years ago, actually, and we just met a French frigate in battle a few months ago. We're here on leave."

Lurdes looked interested. "Really? A battle? How exciting! What was the name of the ship?"

Jack answered again. "If you wish to experience a battle, Mr. Lurdes, I suggest you join the navy. As for the ship's name, that is confidential, I'm afraid."

The civilian waved it off. "Oh, of course, not a problem. My mistake, humblest apologies for prying. Were you two in the battle?" he asked Tom and Will.

"Yes and no," Mowett admitted. "I was prisoner aboard the _Ca-_that is to say, the ship, but I still managed to account for one man. Tom fought in it, though."

Lurdes' eyes seemed to miss nothing. "Were you wounded, then?" he asked, nodding at Mowett's sling. "How awful!" But he didn't seem sorry at all.

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Soon after Lurdes left the tavern, ("So sorry I can't stay, had a lovely time, please, don't hesitate to visit!") the three officers did. Jack glanced at his second lieutenant, who looked deep in thought.

"Well? Didn't seem like a spy to me, Mowett. What did you think?" he asked.

"Looks can be deceiving," William pointed out. "Did you notice he had a bit of a cold? That might have covered his accent. His nose was too stuffed up, so he sounded neither English nor French. Besides, he always has been a good liar."

Tom smiled wryly. "Yes, remember the time when we were boys when he had us convinced that the cook had hidden all the pies in a certain cupboard? And that was really where he kept all the things he had stolen from my parents while he was waiting for his pots to boil, and they thought it was us who took them."

Mowett sighed at the memory. "And they never found out the truth. I was so mad at Lurdes! Remember, I was going to hit him with that stick my father used for walks?"

"But he always managed to worm his way back into our good graces," Tom finished. "He's a right old silvertongue, no mistake."

"Good qualities for a spy, I suppose," Jack mused. "But I suppose time will tell. Oh, I nearly forgot! We have an appointment with Lord Northshire in an hour: we best call a coach."

"_We_, sir?" Tom asked, looking a bit alarmed. "But I'm not even in my best jacket or anything! I-"

"That's all right, Tom," Jack cut in curtly. "It's supposed to be a-ah-inconspicuous visit. Northshire won't mind."

William was about to ask more, but a coach hurtled by at that very moment, and he was soon climbing in it after Jack, his thoughts still his own for the moment. And perhaps that was best, for the lieutenant had a lot to think about.

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_Childhood enemy+FrenchBad situation for poor Tom and Will! Well, to quote Jack, time will tell if he's a spy or not, but I think we should all trust Mowett's gut sense right now. Lurdes is kinda a suspicious character._

_PLEASE R&R. This is my first serious Master and Commander fan-fic, and I need some good feedback. Oh, I have an idea. Review, or I'll let La eat Tom!_

_Tom: AAAAAAAAAAHH! No! Get the bloody poodle away from me! AAAAHHHH!_

_Me: Maybe if the reviewers are good, I'll call him off._

_Tom: ((is hiding)) They'd better hurry up! ((La sprints toward him)) Noooo! Please, review, I'm begging you!_

_Me: You heard him, review or the poodle eats Pullings. You don't want that, do you?_


	2. A Meeting and an Assasin

The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time Jack and his officers pulled up in front of the Northshire Manor. It was a dreary, grey building surrounded by ivy-covered walls, and the cast-iron gates creaked horribly as the coachman opened them.

Jack leapt out of the coach, eyes taking in the scene and grin fading. The way the man decorated his house was not promising, (tree, tree, tree, bush! tree, tree, tree) but he had to believe that Northshire had something important to discuss.

Followed by Will and Tom, who made no remarks at the manor but exchanged bored glances, Jack knocked on the door, lifting the creaky brass knocker and giving it three smart raps.

There was the sound of muffled footsteps from within, and then the door swung open to reveal a butler in a neat black suit and a large wig that wobbled when he moved. Pursing his lips like the dry, wrinkled tortoise Dr. Maturin had once studied and brought aboard, he croaked in a wheezy voice, "Can I help you, gentleman?"

Jack took off his hat and tried to look respectful, but couldn't help shuffling his feet like a mid caught doing something wrong under the butler's flat, unblinking gaze. "Yes, we're here to see Lord Northshire. We have an appointment: My name's Aubrey, Jack Aubrey?"

The butler frowned, swallowed several times, and grated, "Just a minute, please." He slammed the door in Jack's face, causing some of the paint on the lintel to fall.

Jack turned to William and Tom and gave a reassuring smile. "I'm sure it won't be long. He's expecting us, after all."

But it was a long wait. There was no sound from within, and the three naval officers found themselves growing colder and wetter from the constant rain. "He didn't even invite us in," grumbled Tom, but he shut his mouth immediately as the butler suddenly opened to door again.

Looking extremely unhappy about it, the butler grunted, "He'll see you now."

Gratefully, the three allowed themselves to be led into the great entrance hall. A majestic staircase curved in a graceful arch, almost curling itself around the massive crystal chandelier. The butler snapped, "This way, please," and led them up the stairs.

They passed several paintings of silent, stern Northshire ancestors before coming to a broad oak door. The butler bowed out, muttering under his breath words that couldn't be made out, and Jack opened the door.

Lord Northshire sat on the far side of a long desk. He was scratching away at a lengthy piece of paper with a flourishing quill, but looked up when he heard the door open. He was immensely fat, with swaying jowls and a permanent pompous expression. He wore a silk waistcoat with a gold watch chain hanging fashionably out of the left pocket, fancy breeches, and stockings that were bursting at the seams, though he seemed not to notice. He wore a powdered wig not unlike his butlers', but he fit his well, in contrast to his staff.

"Jack Aubrey, it's a pleasure," he whined in a high nasal pitch. He extended a pudgy hand across the desk, not bothering to rise.

Jack crossed the room and shook his hand. "An honor, Lord Northshire."

"And _they_ are...?" Northshire said, glaring at Will and Tom. His beady eyes became dark as he frowned slits, and were almost lost on his pouchy face.

"Thomas Pullings, milord, First Lieutenant aboard the H.M.S. _Surprise_, and this is William Mowett, the Second Lieutenant. It's a great honor to meet you, sir," said Tom, hurrying across the room and holding out his hand as well, but Northshire merely stared at it for a moment as if it was serpent and then pointedly ignored it. Put out, Tom dropped his hand and backed up a pace.

"Be seated," Northshire said with a lazy wave of his hand at the numerous chairs in a rigid row before his desk.

They sat, making an effort not to get the chairs wet with their damp cloaks and failing dismally.

The lord took a deep, shuddering breath that made his jowls quiver. "I have summoned you here today to listen to a proposition. I have heard about your current assignment, and I think a naval captain such as you should not be patrolling our boundaries when he has other potential.

"My lord, I'm flattered-" Jack began, but Northshire waved an impatient hand and he fell silent.

"Please, I'm a very busy man and I have little time for the prattling on of etiquette," he sniffed. "Now, I have recently been appointed ambassador to speak with the French."

_Oh God, there goes any hope of ending the war peacefully,_ thought William, and his lips twitched as he struggled to control his laughter. He bit hard on his tongue and tried to think of other things.

"I'm going to be crossing the Channel to speak with a delegate from Bonaparte himself," continued Northshire proudly. "But I will need an experienced captain with a fine ship with the Admiralty's confidence in his fighting skills, and you are the nearest available one. Tomorrow, if you are willing, we will sail for France."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "To cross over to France, at this time? Well..." He glanced at Tom. "Will there be a fair wind tomorrow, d'you think?"

Tom nodded. "Yes sir, I believe so. The rain should clear up as well."

"Who would be paying for this, sir?" Jack asked.

"Me," Lord Northshire said. "Of course, it's the king's money that I've been given."

"Ah," Jack mused. "Well, this is a bit of a...um..."

"For God's sake, make up your mind, man," Northshire spat impatiently, jowls swaying and eyes narrowed.

"Yes sir, I'll do it," Jack decided. "What time tomorrow will we be leaving?"

"Noon," Northshire said. "I need my beauty sleep, don't I?"

Jack stared at him with revulsion and replied, "Er...if you say so, my lord. See you tomorrow, and thank you."

"You may go," Northshire replied curtly.

Once outside and back in the coach, Mowett burst into uncontrolled roars of laughter.

Half amused, half annoyed, (Northshire's mood had been catching) Jack asked, "What's wrong with you, William?"

"_Him..._the ambassador to _France_..." William managed to gasp, and fell over laughing.

Tom sniggered, and Jack managed a wry smile. "We'll see tomorrow," he said. "Maybe he's not as he seems."

But, in contrast to Lurdes, Northshire was exactly as he appeared.

* * *

The next morning, Mowett turned sleepily in his hammock. His eyes were bleary with sleep, and at first he didn't notice the dwarf-like figure standing against the wall. But the figure pulling out something long and glittering, like a knife, got his attention immediately.

His questing hand found his heavy saber beneath his hammock at once, and he sat up straight yelling, "Tom! Quick, wake up!"

The figure sheathed the dagger at once and scuttled crablike towards the door, shrouded its face with a deformed hand, and bounded out the door. Quick, quiet footsteps pounded up the hatchway, and then all was silent.

Tom rolled over sleepily in the next hammock over, yawned, and glared at William through the mass of blankets he had somehow managed to pile up around his head.

"Will you shut up? I'm trying to get some sleep here!"

"There was someone here with a knife!" Mowett exclaimed wildly. "Quick! We have to catch them!"

"It was just a dream. Go back to sleep," Tom mumbled and snuggled down further in his cocoon.

"No, really! I was wide awake!" William protested.

A loud snore greeted his words. Hesitantly, William lay back down, but kept his sword in his lap. Perhaps it had all been a dream, but it had been so real! In any case, the sword was clenched tightly in the lieutenant's hand until the hands were piped into wakefulness.

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_A boring idiot who thinks the world revolves around him...attempted murder...Mowett's best friend not believing him...huh, who writes these stories anyway? Oh yeah, I do. Well, tell me what you think, me lovely reviewers, or I'll let La loose again. And Tom's too tired to run away._

_Tom: panting You...evil...gasp gasp_

_Me: Catch your breath, Tom, I think you may be needed again if the reviews aren't plentiful._

_Tom: turns green and moans_

_**An-Cat-Gaelige: **Hey, I should use you to threaten Tom! La is getting a bit worn out..._

_Tom: NOOOO! PLEASE! KEEP HER AWAY!_

_Me: shrugs The reviews will tell, my friend, the reviews will tell..._

_**Araniel Giledhel: **Yes, Lurdes is a rather good actor, isn't he? He wasn't even in his element then...glad Jack made you laugh. We keep him offstage for that very purpose._

_Jack: Hey! I thought I was part of the story._

_Me: No, we just bring you along to keep reviewers amused._

_Jack: pouts_

_And La is my dog. He made a brief but beautiful performance in _The Chase for the Prize.

_**Itha Arrowland: **Thanks for reviewing, Itha, always great to hear feedback from you in the afternoons as well as the day. See ya later! _

_**Miss Flossy: **Okay, the poodle is called off! grabs La's collar Glad you like my "serious" writing as well as my funny ones. I certainly enjoy making them meet old friends. "So, there was these two lieutenants and a captain who all walk into a bar..." Okay, maybe I'll save that for later._


	3. The Lord's First Boat Trip

Mowett dressed at top speed and went up on deck at once. He looked around nervously, but there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary. _Perhaps Tom was right, and it was all a dream,_ he thought, but something told him that he was lying to himself. Still, William resolved not to tell anyone about it-at the moment.

It was late afternoon when Lord Northshire arrived in a carriage. The entire crew was out to greet him in their best clothes and neat ranks, the Marines in dress uniform and polished weaponry and the officers sweating under full uniform, which involved a long woolen coat for the winter.

Jack strode to the top of the gangplank to greet the lord, who puffed and waddled his way up it and finally stood in front of the captain. He looked about him at the orderly rows of sailors disdainfully and said, "Good afternoon, Aubrey. Where am I to be staying while I am aboard your-ah-charming little boat?"

Tom saw Jack's face tighten at the use of the word "boat" and stifled a chuckle by pretending that he was coughing. This visit of the lord's was going to turn out interesting.

Northshire's baggage was brought aboard by different servants, all of whom carried two massive bags. As the sixth servant entered Jack's cabin (where Northshire would be staying) Jack said hastily, "Er, you will allow me to point out, Lord Northshire, that not all of your belongings will fit in my cabin? My crew can take a few down to the hold for you, if you wish."

Northshire frowned. "The hold? But surely it is moldy and damp down there. No, I shall keep my things in the cabin. There is that great big room just sitting there that will provide plenty of space."

Fighting to control his temper, Jack replied, "Yes, sir, but that is where you will be dining for the next few nights, and where I plan battles."

"Dining?" said Northshire eagerly. "Yes, of course, very well. You men!" he said, raising his voice and flapping a hand at the nearest seamen, Mr. Hollar and Bonden the coxswain. "Take these below at once."

Mr. Hollar got a very ugly look on his face, the look that tells sailors with half a brain to stay away and keep quiet if you know what's good for you because you did _not _tell the bosun what to do, but apparently it had no effect on Northshire. Bonden looked at Jack, who nodded and stared meaningfully at Mr. Hollar behind Northshire's back, and the two reluctantly picked up bulging suitcases and slouched below. The bosun shot another glare that could pierce iron Northshire's way, but he was too busy regarding the rest of the hands with a look of pure disgust on his face to notice.

Midshipmen on the quarterdeck writhed with silent laughter when Hollar mouthed, "Bloody pompous bugger," in Northshire's direction and disappeared down the main hatch, but all Mowett had to do was step back a pace onto one of their feet and hiss, "Keep it down!" for them to stop abruptly. You may laugh at the bosun behind his back, but you could never argue with a lieutenant.

Northshire glanced up at the officers and then turned back to Jack. "Could I perhaps have a tour of your boat before we set sail?"

"Of course, sir," Jack replied absently, and gestured to Tom. "Mr. Pullings here will show you around."

Tom eyed Northshire apprehensively and shot William a private look of disgust, but sighed and joined him on the deck. "Please follow me, my lord," he said. "We can start from the stern and work our way up to the bow."

"Bow? Stern?" Northshire said, confused.

"The back and front," Tom replied, wincing at his mutilated choice of words. _The back and front?_ Honestly.

"This is the quarterdeck," Tom announced. "The captain and the officers usually dominate this area, but the coxswain-Mr. Bonden-and any hands summoned here are allowed up here. You, as our honored guest, may also be up here without invitation."

Northshire's flabby face was expressionless as he looked around. "Intriguing," he said in a bored tone. "Show me the rooms downstairs."

Wincing again at Northshire's lack of naval knowledge, Tom interrupted. "We actually call them cabins, sir, and anything belowdecks is referred to as below."

"Well, while I am here I shall refer to them as rooms and downstairs, Mr. Pullings, and I think that you should too if you wish to stay on my good side," snapped the lord. Tom bowed his head respectfully but said nothing. He motioned for Northshire to follow him below.

"Watch your step, milord, the hatches are hard to navigate," Tom instructed from the bottom of the stairs. Assisted by two hands, Northshire was sliding slowly down the hatchway, his prim buckled shoes daintily picking out the steps and taking their owner's weight. At long last, Northshire was at the bottom. The _Surprise_ suddenly rolled in the wake of a passing ship, and Northshire stumbled and grabbed the person nearest to him for support-Mr. Hollar.

Hollar didn't offer any help, merely stood there as Northshire gasped and wobbled and held on to his arm. His tough, tanned face showed intense dislike as he looked down at Northshire, and he seemed to be struggling not to break out with the oaths he was so famous for. At long last, Northshire recovered his balance and followed Tom, not even bothering to apologize to Mr. Hollar.

The bosun looked after him, tall hat casting shadows over his face. After a long moment, well after Tom had led Northshire down a different corridor, Hollar spat expertly and bounded up the ladder. Roars of "Get aloft, you lazy gawpin' idiots" proved that Mr. Hollar disliked Northshire very much if he was taking his anger out on the crew. Very much indeed...but if Mr. Hollar disliked someone, he wouldn't be on the HMS _Surprise_ for long. That was guaranteed.

* * *

Later that evening, at dinner, Lord Northshire came in late. All the officers were kept waiting, and they stared bad-temperedly at the plates of food that were slowly going cold. Their happy feelings from setting sail had completely evaporated. Killick, standing behind Jack, had a mean, pinched expression on his face that promised trouble.

At long last, Northshire made his appearance. He opened the door, stumbled as the _Surprise_ began tacking westwards and the room tilted in the opposite direction, and managed to sit down at the place reserved for him at the end of the table, facing Jack.

Jack smiled cheerfully. "I'm honored that you could join us, Lord Northshire. What may I get you to eat?"

Northshire glanced at the fare unenthusiastically. His face was pale and sweaty, hinting of seasickness. "Uh, I'll serve myself, thank you. I'm not so hungry at the moment," he said meekly.

Jack put on a look of concern. "Are you feeling quite well, milord? The ship's doctor can attend to you, if you wish-"

Northshire waved him off. "No, no, just a slight stomachache. Besides, I brought my own physician aboard. No offense to your doctor, but I'm sure that he hasn't been trained in the palace, as mine has."

Murmurs of dissent rose from those present. Stephen, who was sitting at Jack's left-hand side, shot Northshire a look of reproach. It was evident that the lord didn't realize his error and had no idea that Stephen was actually sitting a few feet away from him. "Well, if you do need any help, I'm Doctor Maturin," he said with what he hoped was a friendly nod.

Northshire performed the slightest of double takes. "Maturin? The naturalist?"

"Yes, he is, sir," said Mr. Blakeney proudly. "And a fine doctor as well."

"Oh."

The meal commenced, finally. Northshire watched the officers eat ravenously-they'd been on their feet all day-and dragged a plate of stew towards him. He slopped a bit on his plate and began to eat very slowly. A basket of bread was passed his way, and, not to be outdone by common seamen, he took two and began copying Mr. Howard's enthusiastic bites as best he could.

As the officers joked and talked, Northshire ate on in grim silence. Finally, he stood, muttered an excuse, and sprinted for the door. Sounds of retching could be heard from directly above them on the quarterdeck.

Mowett and Tom looked at each other and buried their faces in their cups of wine to keep from roaring with laughter. Jack gave a small, almost triumphant smile, said, "Killick, fetch Higgins for Lord Northshire, please, or his _personal physician_ if he would prefer him," and continued to eat.

_

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_A/N-Thought you would like a bit of humor there. Northshire 0, Surprises 1! Haha! Don't try to out-eat sailors when you're seasick-it won't work. Northshire is discovering the true meaning of sailing...and they haven't even hit rough water yet._

_No, I'm not trying to be mean to Northshire, I'm just embarrassing him because, though I created him, (and have full rights to him, forgot to mention that. Ah well, I dislike disclaimers anyway) I don't like him. Who can? Trust me though, the score is going to change quite a bit, and Northshire may get ahead by a few points before the end..._

_About Mr. Hollar-poor dear, he hasn't had a single story as even a minor character! weeps And I need someone who likes to yell. He's an interesting guy, if you think about it, and he's going to come in handy. Be warned!_

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_**An-Cat-Gaelige-**Will do. I'm really liking how the story's turning out, and I'm going to put my full efforts into it. Glad you liked it too!_

_**Kiramowett-**Who can't love Mowett stories? We're all getting caught up in the ever-growing Mowett train...((glares at Flossy, corrupter of innocent minds, lol)) Hope you liked this chapter too. I threw in a few details that are essential to the plotline that are intriguing._

_**TheMusingFit-**Well, it's not as funny as it seems! It took me a long time to decide if it was going to be tree, tree, tree, BUSH! tree, tree, tree or bush, bush, bush, TREE! bush, bush, bush. I decided on tree, tree, tree because...hmm, I don't really know why...I think I ended up doing rock paper scissors online with someone...Glad you liked it. _

_**Miss Flossy-**At last, someone else who appreciates the joy of writing about fat pompous gits! Haha! Tom is becoming one of them, the way he's going..._

_Tom: Hey!  
__Me: Well, it's true._

_Tom: grumbles I needed my sleep. Just because Will was about to get murdered doesn't change that._

_Me: ((rolls eyes))_

_Thanks for the advice on the "pretty words." I sometimes tend to overdo it, and I confess, it's become a bad habit. I put your quote/advice up on my wall...sob. Oh, so poetic! You could take over for Mowett! _

_Mowett: Oh no she doesn't! Next chapter, we'll see. _

_Well, you heard the boss, looks like I'll have to wrack my brains for rhyming words. Thanks for reviewing!  
Anyone who doesn't review, today's threat is that An-Cat-Gaelige is going to eat Tom because La's worn out and she so nicely volunteered. It seems to be working. ((Watches Tom run by screaming))_


	4. Omens

Deep within the hold of the _Surprise_, something stirred.

It yawned and stretched quietly in the cramped space, then sat up, yellow eyes piercing the dark like knives. Silently, it rose and pressed itself against the wall where the captain was sleeping. Not a sound-it must not be dawn yet.

The figure crawled between a gap in the neatly stacked crates of provisions where it had made a sort of den. A small, natural hole in the wooden belly of the ship provided a peephole.

Retching sounds came from directly above, and the figure quickly drew back as the owner of the sounds gave up their meals to the sea. After a pause and some unsteady footsteps above, the creature peered through the hole and scrutinized the horizon. The sun was just beginning to rise, and in a few minutes Mr. Hollar was piping the hands to breakfast. But the figure didn't know Mr. Hollar's name, or even the captain who it spied on every morning's name. It only knew one name-the name of its target.

Breakfast at the captain's table consisted of eggs and bacon. Lord Northshire was not present. According to one of many servants who served the lord, Northshire was busy.

"Oh, he's busy, all right," Mr. Howard muttered. "I heard him all night long, spewing right outside my window. Didn't get a wink of sleep, I didn't."

Jack snorted, quickly disguising it as a sneeze. He adopted a stern face. "Now now, Mr. Howard, let us not _hurl_ our blame on Lord Northshire, if you please."

The table exploded with laughter.

* * *

Northshire, in fact, was asleep-or trying to fall asleep. Exhausted from being sick and staying up all night, he lay in Jack's cabin, surrounded by pillows and hot water bottles. Bonden, whose arms were sore from carrying Northshire's luggage the day before, took the opportunity to stomp directly above where the lord was sleeping by disguising his heavy gait as a stumble. 

Groaning, Northshire turned over, face green and pinched. He kicked a pillow bad-temperedly and stuffed his head under another, blocking out sound. At long last, he fell into a deep sleep.

Mowett was on watch when it happened. A muffled shout erupted from the captain's cabin, where Northshire was sleeping and had asked none to disturb him, and the terrified lord himself zipped out of the door with surprising speed for one of his bulk. With all traces of seasickness gone, he crashed into the sturdy second lieutenant, who grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him to a skittering stop.

"What's wrong, my lord?" asked Will, concerned.

"The-there's someone in there with a knife! I could have been killed!" gasped Northshire. He buried his face in Mowett's uniformed shoulder and began to bawl. Wincing with distaste and pain-that was his injured shoulder and was still in a sling-Mowett moved away with as much dignity as possible and shook Northshire roughly, saying, "What happened? Who was in there?"

But Northshire would not answer. He shook his head fiercely like a child and wailed, "I want to speak to the captain!"

Jack, including several curious hands, was already rushing to the scene. Mowett handed Northshire over promptly and stood back as he blubbered out his story to Jack. Apparently, Northshire had been sleeping when he felt his cot move. He opened his eyes to see someone standing over him with a knife and had pushed the figure aside and ran out the door.

"Right," Jack said, and deposited Northshire on the quarterdeck steps. He wiped his eyes with the handkerchiefs some kind-hearted hands offered him and watched as Jack, Mowett, and Mr. Hollar, as the only armed officers present, disappeared into the cabin.

A few minutes later, Mowett stuck his head around the cabin door. Northshire had recovered his composure and asked, "Did you find him?"

"No," William answered. Puzzlement filled his tones. "I'm sorry, Lord Northshire-there's no one here."

"Nonsense!" sniffed Northshire. "There has to be! He attacked me!"

Mowett shook his head slowly. "No, my lord, there is _no one _here," he said firmly. "We're sure of it."

* * *

But that night, William wondered if he had been wrong in telling Northshire that there had been no one there. Perhaps the lord hadn't been imagining things, as he had accused Jack, Mowett, Mr. Hollar, and even Tom and Mr. Blakeney, who had not even been present, of accusing _him_ of.

"Tom?" William whispered, wondering if he was awake.

Apparently he was. A grunt answered him.

"Should I have told the captain about what happened the day before we sailed? How-how I thought someone came in here with a knife?"

There was another grunt.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Mowett impatiently.

The top of Tom's head appeared, and he glared sleepily at his friend. "Well, it was going to mean shut up and go back to sleep, but if you honestly want my opinion, I say yes." He instantly fell back asleep, snoring softly.

Mowett lay back in his hammock and looked up at the narrow rafters in the gloom of the small berth as if they would reveal answers. They didn't, but Will had already made up his mind. Tomorrow, he would tell Captain Aubrey about his own experience. There was a possibility that there might be a real problem here, and he had had too many dreams concerning daggers and dwarf-like figures to ignore them.

* * *

It had come so close!

The creature within the hold of the _Surprise_ was in a towering rage. So close, but it had failed. The eyes, usually pale yellow, were now mere slits of red. The dark figure kicked a barrel in its anger, and the heavy object teetered and crashed to the deck. Drinking water spilled out and mixed with the bilge.

The figure retreated to its den, eyes wide with fear. Now they were sure to come down and discover it! It listened for a few minutes, but no one came down to discover what had caused the noise-for now. Still, the creature knew, a loss of an entire barrel of fresh water would be a cause for a search-after all, the barrels were packed not to spill-and the creature vowed to itself that, in order not to fail its task, it needed practice. A member of the crew would soon be down here, and when they came, there would be practice enough. The dark would complicate things, but that would only help the challenge. The creature licked one of its many knives lovingly and gave a small, crackling laugh.

* * *

The sound of the drums woke the crew of the _Surprise_. An enemy ship was riding the swells on the horizon.

Mowett and Pullings dressed at top speed, throwing on their uniforms quickly and buckling on their swords. They joined Jack on the quarterdeck.

"Morning," Jack said. He nodded to the ship. "A Frenchie, came up in the night. What do you think of her?"

Tom peered at the ship through his glass. "But, sir, she's got at least fifty guns!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, I noticed."

"But are we going to take her?" Mowett asked, staring oddly at Jack.

"No, no, of course not," Jack said impatiently. "Beating to quarters was just a precaution: by law, Lord Northshire, as the ambassador, has legal right to not be harmed by any French ships. Still, we may have to communicate that fact so they don't blow us to bits."

Lord Northshire, of course, was still asleep, and his presence would be needed if any negotiations were to be made at all, so Mr. Hollar was sent to wake him. Grinning evilly at the thought of revenge, the bosun knocked loudly on the door to the captain's cabin.

"Rouse up, Lord Northshire, rise an' shine!" he boomed gruffly.

A servant appeared at the door looking livid. "Go away, you horrible, crude man! The Lord is sleeping!" he snapped.

Mr. Hollar narrowed his eyes at him and drew himself up so he towered over the cringing man. "And there's a French ship on the horizon, so, if he wants to stay without splinters or not have a cannonball for breakfast, the captain suggests that he gets himself dressed and up on deck so he can negotiate-and he better make it fast. Very fast."

"Y-yessir," stammered the servant, and he rushed off. Mr. Hollar chuckled and leaned against the quarterdeck steps, waiting for his victim to come back out.

Lord Northshire did, finally. Mr. Hollar pointed and said coolly, "He's up there." He did not offer his assistance as the lord stumbled his way up the steps and stood beside Jack, face twitching nervously and sending rolls of fat vibrating down his neck.

Jack looked pleased, as he always did when coming into contact with enemy ships. "Good morning, Lord Northshire!" he said courteously. "As you can see, we have a French ship on the horizon. Perhaps you'd be so kind as to communicate with them...?"

Northshire looked terrified, but nodded. Mr. Hollar came up beside him with a speaking trumpet, as the loudest, and looked expectantly at Northshire, who stared stupidly back. Jack quietly told him to tell the bosun what to say and stood back.

"Er-tell them that we are friends," Northshire squeaked. Mr. Hollar repeated the message. "Now, say that we are ambassadors from England," Northshire said, with a bit more importance this time. Giving orders always made him feel better. "And we have the right of safe passage. If they harm us, they will be breaking the England and French temporary truce appointed to this negotiation."

A shout came back from the French ship: "You are sailing on the ship of "Lucky" Jack Aubrey, ambassador. We do not trust this captain to keep the peace, so we shall escort you to France ourselves. If you do not agree to these terms and come peaceably, we will destroy you."

Everyone looked at Jack, even Northshire. He seemed angry at the French comment that they didn't trust him to keep peace laid down by law, but he hid the fact. "Tell them that they may approach," he said to Mr. Hollar.

* * *

_A/N: Oo, ominous ending there! ((Beethoven theme)) So, what will happen to our heroes? And who's the scary person in the hold? Huh, even I don't know yet...stay tuned! New installment will be up faster than this one, I promise. And I only got one review, so Tom-_

_Tom: NOOOO! HELP!_

_Me: -I'll have pity on Tom and wait 'till next time._

_Tom: Phew._

_**Araniel:** Heh heh, I like Northshire too. These characters are SO fun to write about, such great material! And the time period is...erm...I guess before The Far Side of the World, if you've read the first 2 in the series. You don't really have to, the only important info that you might have missed is that Mowett gets his shoulder shattered by a musketball and that's why he has a sling._


	5. An Intruder Revealed

Captain Jacques LeLupe stroked his graying hair thoughtfully as he watched the _Surprise_ glide smoothly along beside his ship, the _Aigle. _"Lucky" Jack Aubrey had given in without a fight, but he still wasn't sure if it counted as a prize or not. After all, the _Surprise_ had not surrendered anything or struck her colors in any way, but what was Jacques supposed to say when he sailed into Toulan? Oh, _oui_, I brought the ship in, but it has an ambassador on board, so I cannot claim it? He would be the laughingstock of the entire French navy.

LeLupe watched one of the lieutenants have a hurried discussion with a midshipman on the quarterdeck with mild interest. The lad saluted and trotted below, and the lieutenant leaned against the rail. He stared back at the French captain, making eye contact, but LeLupe did not look away. He was famous for his staying power in staring matches seeing as his odd yellow eyes always seemed to scare his opponent.

But not this Englishman. The man didn't even blink. Unsettled, LeLupe broke the contact and snapped at a passing seaman to bring him something to drink. Usually a quiet gentleman of unnatural calm and patience, LeLupe had been badly shaken. He cast another glance over his shoulder at the officer, still staring defiantly back at him. The French captain wondered why this man affected him so, when so many others had never even bothered him. "_Le Rocher" _was his nickname with his men: The Rock. So far in this voyage, he wasn't living up to the name.

Tom slid away from the rail, satisfied that he had temporarily cowed the French captain. He allowed himself a slight smirk before walking over to speak to Jack. "Sir, did Lord Northshire specify that we were to be escorted into France?"

His captain gave him a startled look. "Well, no, he didn't, but it's a condition that we must bear, I'm afraid. Why do you ask, Tom?"

The First Officer looked thoughtfully back at the _Aigle_. "Because it doesn't seem right, sir. I mean, think about what we'll look like pulling into the harbor with the French ship beside us-we'll look like prisoners, not ambassadors. That's not a very good first impression."

Jack sighed and nodded absently. "I know, I know. Don't think I haven't thought about it too. I haven't really negotiated yet with the captain...perhaps I could speak to him."

"Now?" Tom asked hopefully.

"Yes, I suppose now would be a good time," Jack agreed. "Tell Mr. Hollar to hail them, will you?"

The bosun obliged, and soon Captain LeLupe was standing on the deck of the _Surprise_ with a few of his officers. Jack looked him over. He was a tall man, but graceful and wise in his actions. His officers obviously respected him, and he spoke kindly and fairly to each of them who approached him or asked him a question. His commanding figure stood proudly even on an enemy quarterdeck, and Jack instinctively thought well of him, despite his thoughts of the last French captain the Surprises had encountered.

Mowett, too, seemed to be remembering Captain Cym. He rubbed his bandaged shoulder unconsciously from time to time and took a small step back whenever LeLupe seemed to shift in his direction. Tom finally cast a murderous glance at him behind Jack's back, and he stopped fidgeting.

At the sight of Tom, LeLupe drew back. His yellowish eyes narrowed, and he cast his gaze suspiciously over the lieutenant. Tom kept a politely blank face on and gazed back, and the French captain looked away. This was undoubtedly the lieutenant that had stared him down, and LeLupe resolved to find out about him.

Jack approached the French crowd confidently and cordially invited the captain and his officers to dine with him tonight. LeLupe accepted gracefully, of course, and Jack ushered them into the great cabin, where Killick had set the table with the captain's second-best dishes. Seeing this, Jack scowled and resolved to get back at his steward somehow, then motioned out the cabin door for his usual dinner table guests to come in.

This included the three lieutenants, Mr. Allen, Mr. Howard, and several of the midshipmen. The mids gulped at the sight of their guests and placed their napkins on their laps with trembling hands; tonight, their behavior would be scrutinized by both the captain and the French officers. The pressure was laid on thick.

Jack did not mention his request to LeLupe through the appetizers or the first part of the meal, seeing as it would be considered bad manners. Instead, he talked very little, allowing LeLupe to ask questions of the officers. The French captain took advantage of this by turning to Tom, Mowett, and Blakeney's side of the table with a wolf-like grin and asking, "So, lieutenants, tell me a bit about yourselves. Have you been officers onboard the _Surprise_ for long?"

Mowett felt distrust well within him. The last time he had been questioned like this was by George Lurdes in the tavern in London, and he was even less comfortable here, talking to a known enemy instead of a suspected one. He looked pleadingly at Tom, who took the hint.

"I don't believe we were introduced, sir. I'm Thomas Pullings, First Officer, and this is William Mowett, the Second Officer, and William Blakeney, Third Officer." He motioned to each of them in turn as he spoke their names. "And yes, we have been officers long-at least, Mr. Mowett and I have."

"They were master's mates, both of them, aboard my first command, the _Sophie_," Jack said fondly with a smile at the senior lieutenants. "They're my officers of choice, you might say. We're old acquaintances."

As Tom and William swelled with pride, LeLupe turned his attention to Blakeney. "And you, little _monsieur_?"

Blakeney narrowed his eyes. He loathed being called little, but, being in the same rank as the two other lieutenants, he was used to it. "I've been midshipman here for three years, sir," he said reluctantly. "I was recently promoted to lieutenant six months ago, just as an acting officer, but the Admiralty approved the promotion and I stayed where I was."

LeLupe nodded with a smile. "I see, I see. So," he said, moving back to Tom and William, "I take it you have known each other for a long time?"

Tom had just taken an overlarge bite of bread, and he kicked Mowett under the table, signaling for him to answer. William answered hastily, "Uh, yes, yes we have, sir. Mr. Pullings has been my good friend since we were boys, and we joined the service together."

"Such friendships are truly wonderful," said LeLupe with a reverent sigh. "It makes me wish I had not turned away some people that would have been a good friend. I think we all need a good friend in the Navy, would you agree, Captain Aubrey?"

Jack nodded solemnly. "I do indeed, sir. I do indeed."

As the officers were dining, the crew were feeling irritated. The water barrel was empty, but no one felt like going down to the hold to get a new one. Finally, Mr. Lamb and Joe Nagle were "volunteered" to fetch a spare, and they stomped down into the hold grumbling.

It was pitch black down there, and the echoes seemed to be deafening. Nagle lowered his voice instinctively. "Where's the bloody thing?"

Mr. Lamb was struggling with the lamp that he had brought, but finally lit it. The dim light cast strips of shadow over the smashed water barrel lying between two boxes of dried meat. The carpenters gasped, and Mr. Lamb swore. "What happened?" he fumed, going down to check the boxes. "I packed these meself: made 'em tight so they would trap the barrel between them. There's no way it could have fallen!"

He inspected the barrel closer. "In fact, I think this barrel's been tampered with." He turned to Nagle with serious eyes. "We better tell the captain, mate. There's a reason for this."

Nagle nodded solemnly and turned to leave, eager to get out of the hold. A strangled choking noise made him turn back, and his eyes went wide with horror.

A dwarflike figure stood before them. It was shrouded in a long black cloak and a heavy mask-a Venetian mask, it seemed to be, but a terrifying one with features that seemed slashed or scored with a sword point rather than the skilled chisel of a caring craftsman-and a light black veil that allowed a good view of that terrible mask. Baggy silk pantaloons stained with what looked like blood billowed out, its constant changing of position confusing the watchers' minds. Only the creature's hands were visible, each holding a knife. The hands were twisted and scarred horrifically by fire.

A dry wheezing noise emerged from the thing's throat: a laugh. "You cannot escape Excessum Vereor, sailors. I am Death and Fear, Fear and Death, and you cannot escape either. You are afraid now, I can see, and Death is inevitable. Embrace it, and come to me, for I will find you."

Nagle and Lamb were speechless with terror. Nameless dreads filled their minds as they stared, unable to move, as the creature advanced with weapons drawn...

_Muhahaha, the evil creature is revealed! Anyone know Latin? I put a bit in there, though the meaning's a bit obvious. Very Gothic little ending, and sorry again for possibly my worst cliff-hanger yet. _

_I hope you liked the new French captain. I went a little overboard with the last one by turning him into a raving lunatic...well, it was FUN! But LeLupe is better than the last, I assure you. Oh, and that name comes from one of my friends at school, Tommy LeLupe, so back off and no copying. It's a bit ironic because he's only 15 percent French and 85 percent Irish and his last name's French. Am I rambling? Yes, I am. Well, let me deal with the reviews and then I'll go ramble somewhere else._

_**Bean02:** Yes, Tom's behavior there is inspired by SEVERAL different people who do exactly the same thing, including me. It's very interesting how our minds work. And Tom, good for you, you got the fat-dripping, chocolate and mint smothered thing away from her. Now give it to me-_

_Tom: ((hugs ice cream)) NEVER! BACK OFF!_

_Me: ((chases him)) Don't worry, Bean, I'll get it back sooner or later...perhaps I can borrow Olivia for a few minutes?_

_**Miss Flossy:** About Mr. Hollar speaking in French-don't think he knows the language. Oh well. But I'm making a lucky guess that there would be at least one person who speaks English on the French ship (the French guys from the _Acheron_ hailed the _Surprise_ in English during the movie) and I guess Mr. Hollar was the nearest available person with shouting power. Speaking French was kind of a bonus, if you get what I mean...and this chapter is really to your taste if you liked the "it" in the hold! Oh, I think I'm gonna give them nightmares... _


	6. Assassin

Jack stared thoughtfully across the room at nothing really in particular. His wine glass was raised halfway to his lips, but he seemed not to notice it. Suddenly, his face hardened, and he put the glass down. Some deep instinct that every good captain commands had warned him that something was terribly wrong aboard his ship.

"Excuse me for a moment," he apologized to his guests. "I'm so sorry, but I think Killick forgot to make dessert."

It was a lame excuse, but the officers present sensed that something was troubling Jack and said nothing.

Jack burst out on deck and poked his head into the gunroom. The evening meal was progressing as usual there, and nothing seemed out of place. The hands saluted when they saw their captain and stared curiously at him-they all thought he had been at dinner. "Is everything all right?" Jack asked, looking around again.

More odd stares. Killick stood up with an air of exasperation and growled, "Is there anything more y'require, sir? At dinner, that is to say?"

Jack looked puzzled and was silent for a moment. "No-no, thank you, Killick. I was just..."

But what he was just never came to be. It was then that twin screams erupted from the hold, and chaos ensued.

Tom was discussing the advantages and disadvantages of carronades with Captain LeLupe when he heard shouts and yells from below. The officers present all leapt to their feet, grabbed their swords from the rack by the door, and raced outside. After a moment of hesitation, so did the French officers.

The hands had all spilled out of the gunroom and were surrounding someone who was trapped in the middle and obviously armed. Dirks, knotted ropes, and even dinner knives (seeing as they had just been eating) kept the captive at bay. Stephen, who hadn't been feeling well that day and had excused himself from dinner, was kneeling at Joe Nagle's side by the hatch leading to the hold and was helping him staunch the flow of blood streaming from his side. Mr. Lamb, who was unharmed, stood over them with a bloody dagger in one hand and was looking mad as a hornet.

Mowett took in the scene, searching for Jack, but his captain was nowhere to be seen. In this instance, Tom was his superior officer, so he turned to him. Seeing that Will was looking hopefully at him, Tom roared, "SILENCE FORE AND AFT!"

Quiet descended on the ship, punctuated by muffled noises from the captive in the middle of the crowd. "Right," Tom said, lowering his voice to a reasonable tone. "What is going on here? And where's Captain Aubrey?"

"Right here, Tom," came Jack's powerful voice from the back of the crowd. He had just emerged from the hold and was looking grim.

Tom was nonplussed. "Sir-what's going on, exactly?"

Lord Northshire, who had been hiding under the dining room table, ran out bawling, "What's going on here? Where are the Marines? Captain Aubrey, stop this disturbance at once! It's ruining my dinner, and all this excitement is bad for one's digestion."

Jack shot the ambassador a look of pure loathing that Northshire missed completely and said coldly, "A little late, Lord Northshire, I think. But let's find out what _is _going on here, and who the person is that the hands seem to have taken prisoner."

The crowd parted, revealing the veiled and masked figure that Nagle and Lamb had discovered in the hold. It appeared much worse for the wear, with its mask battered and its clothing torn. Still, it faced Jack defiantly as he approached it, drawing itself up to its full four feet.

"Who are you?" Jack demanded bluntly.

The figure stared at him neutrally as it answered, "An assassin."

There was a murmur in the crowd, and they all craned their heads to have a better look at the figure. It did not react. Jack looked startled.

"An assassin?" he asked. The figure nodded. "But...who were you after?"

There was not a trace of hesitation in the thing's answer as it said clearly, "Lieutenant William Mowett, an officer aboard this ship."

A collective gasp went up from the hands. Tom looked sharply at Mowett, who had turned deathly pale and ashen. The Second Officer swayed slightly, but kept his feet as he stared fixedly at the assassin.

Jack was stunned, but he continued his questioning. "And who hired you to kill Lieutenant Mowett?"

Now the figure hesitated. It said stiffly, "I do not give away that sort of information. You must pay me more than he was paying me to find out. Otherwise-"He whipped his dagger up to his throat. "I will die, and so will your answers. All it takes is one nick-this blade is poison."

Stephen, still tending to Nagle, shot a horrified look at his patient. He quickly called his assistant, Padeen, over and whispered frantically in his ear. The lanky Irishman took off for the sickbay at once.

Jack took a deep breath, struggling to remain calm. He licked his lips nervously and said, "That won't be necessary. How much did you have in mind?"

The assassin stared back at him, its eyes expressionless behind the beaked mask. "One thousand pounds. In gold."

There was another gasp from the hands, and the officers all had their mouths hanging open. The French officers seemed slightly confused, but they understood the depth of what the assassin was asking for. This was very serious. Captain LeLupe asked, ever polite, "It appears that your employer wants Lieutenant Mowett dead very badly. Do you serve our side, then?"

"Your side?" the figure scoffed. "The _French_? No. I serve a single person only-like my accomplices, I am no lover of Napoleon. However, I do not care who or what my employer is." Dark eyes glittered through the eyeholes of the mask. "If he or she is French, or English, I care not. I only care about what they pay. That is all I will say to you."

It sheathed its dagger in a single, decisive motion. Jack took a deep breath and said, "I don't have that kind of money, and I don't think anyone else on board does. If you wish, I can send you the payment after our next mission."

"Do I have your word?" the assassin demanded.

All eyes were riveted on Jack. To pay this much, just for information...

"Yes."

The answer was firm. Mowett let out a breath, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from the dwarflike figure to nod once at Jack in thanks. Captain Aubrey returned the nod and raised his voice, saying, "Lieutenants, please report to my cabin. Doctor, when you have finished with Nagle, you may join us. Everyone else, carry on."

He turned to the French officers with an apologetic bow and a smile. "I apologize most profusely for breaking up our wonderful conversation, gentlemen, but I'm afraid this matter cannot wait. Perhaps you will join us tomorrow night?"

Captain LeLupe shook Jack's hand. "No, thank you. We'd better sail ahead and let the fleet know that you're coming. I understand completely about this assassin business-please, think nothing of it."

Jack smiled, a true smile this time. "Thank you, Captain. I expect we shall see each other soon." He turned and strode into his cabin, followed by the assassin.

Jack pulled out a chair for the assassin and it sat down, looking out of place in the dignified cabin with its terrifying mask and black clothes. Putting on a grave expression, Jack sat across from the figure that was causing so much uproar on his ship. His officers sat on either sides of him, but Jack did not introduce them. He launched into his questions.

"Who paid you to kill Mr. Mowett?"

Now the assassin answered easily, never hesitating. "It was a man named Joseph Buckley, who was visiting where I was staying. He tried to sound like he was English, though I caught the sound of a French accent."

"And did he tell you why he wanted you to kill him?"

The assassin shrugged. "He was very vague about it-kept muttering 'He knows too much, he knows.' Perhaps your lieutenant was involved in a crime venture. I've done jobs like that before."

Mowett looked indignant for a moment, but stopped before the figure caught a glimpse of his face. It wasn't a good idea to single himself out for a potential killer.

Jack, too, kept his face blank. After nodding, he spoke carefully. "What were his instructions? What did he tell you?"

Now the assassin hesitated. Despite the offer of gold, it was still wary with such information. "He told me where Lieutenant Mowett could be found, and the name of the ship that he was on as a second lieutenant. He said that he had seen him prior to contacting me, and he was sure that Mowett would still be in the same place, according to orders he had changed."

"He had the orders changed?" interrupted Jack. "But I thought Lord Northshire...unless Lord Northshire was the one who hired you?"

Veiled and masked as the figure was, it still gave off the impression that it was amused. "The fat one? Nay, he was not the man who paid me. I barely saw the one who did, but he told me he worked alone."

"Though he could have said anything he wanted," mused Pullings, eyeing the paid killer expressionlessly. After a moment's hesitation, he raised his eyes to his companions, gaze flickering between them for an instant for some sign of a reaction.

The assassin nodded agreeably. "So he could have. But that is not my business to know."

"Can you find out?" Jack demanded: a bold move indeed. "I mean...assuming we paid you?"

William spoke up for the first time, unwilling to have the captain spend any more money on his account. He was astounded by Aubrey's generosity already-the fact that he was willing to pay even more was touching, but Mowett's sense of honor went completely against such a favor. "I don't think that's necessarily legal, sir," he interrupted fairly. "I mean-!"

"Legal or not," the assassin butted in, brushing him aside, "I will do it. The law does not bother me."

Jack wasn't certain about this certain turn of events. He rubbed his temples-this was more Stephen's line of work than anyone else's. Suddenly, as if in an answer to his prayers, his friend opened the door and slipped inside, taking up a place beside him. He studied the assassin for a few moments, his face quite blank, before remarking, "You're injured. Excuse me, officers, but this man is hurt-I must take him down to the sickbay."

Wordlessly the dwarflike creature stood, nodding. Stephen returned the gesture and rose as well, and as he turned to open the door Jack caught a glimpse of his face. One eye casually fluttered closed in the tiniest of winks before the _Surprise_'s surgeon swept out of the room after the assassin. Jack breathed a sigh of relief, knowing what he was about, and bade his officers good night. An intelligence agent knew best how to handle this-nothing more would be done tonight by the rest of the crew.  
_

* * *

A/N: And so I'm back! Huzzah! _

_PLEASE NOTE-This was all (well, mostly) written a few months ago, and I became too lazy to carry on with it and post it. Sorry, I know I left you in my biggest cliffhanger yet...um...don't sue me? I like life? _

_So...prepare yourselves for a flurry of updates (I hope) that will only be brought on much after lots of nice reviews. I'm waiting..._

_**Miss Flossy:** Hmm..._do_ the boyos know the guy's Venetian? And did I say he's Venetian? shakes finger Baaad, bad assumptions! (Lol) Well...they're all doomed, this guy may seem agreeable at the moment but he threatened dear William. Y'all know that can only mean bad things. So-the Pullings death stare?_

_Me: ((nudges Tom)) _

_Tom: ((grins fanatically)) Okay...((stares scarily at Flossy))_

_Me: We need to work on that...you look like a sick cow. "Puppy eyes" is more like. _

_Tom: ((sobs))_

_**Araniel: **Aw, pooor Northshire...well, next chapter will be simply full of him. Sound good? Don't you just love LeLupe? He's awesome, huh? More of him to come too...and the "it in the hold"!_


End file.
